Harry Potter and the Forbidden Love
by XoXoMaya-chanXoXo
Summary: For some unknown reason, Harry feels that his 6th year at Hogwarts will be his most dangerous yet, just as he feels that it will revolve around the self-proclaimed Slytherin Princess he has hidden feelings for. Harry/girl!Draco Rated M for precautions R
1. Prologue

**Summary:** For some unknown reason, Harry feels that his sixth year at Hogwarts will be his most dangerous yet, just as he feels that it will revolve the self-proclaimed Slytherin Princess he has hidden feelings for. Harry/girl!Draco

**A/N:** Dracia (dray-see-a) is just a name I made up myself. Whether it has real meaning or is complete gibberish doesn't matter to me as I really like the name and think it suits. As it says in the summary, this is a Harry/girl!Draco fanfic because I believe there aren't enough.

For those of you who don't understand, this means that Harry Potter is being matched up with a girl version of Draco Malfoy. Why? Because I think girl!Draco would be interesting if paired with Harry and vice versa (girl!Harry/Draco).

I would just like to inform everyone that this will not be pursued extremely actively. I will be continuing it but it will be rather slow unless I have an extreme inspiration to write (as I do often when writing stories, especially new ones). So without further ado, here it is!

**Harry Potter and the Forbidden Love  
**Prologue

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_Dearest Harry,_

_How are you? How are you feeling? Has your scar been hurting recently? If it has, please be careful and relax. Many things are probably stressing you now but please try to relax until you have made contact with Dumbledore and he brings you here._

_Also, happy birthday! I wasn't able to enclose any gifts with this letter but once you arrive, I will present your gift to you. But until then, this letter will be all you receive on your birthday from me._

_Everything here is very eventful: Mr. Weasley has developed an odd fascination with my lead pencil. He keeps asking me how the lead manages to get through the hole and what pushes it. It is quite amusing._

_Mrs. Weasley is rather flustered and has developed the tendency of sitting on the living room couch and knitting extremely long scarves for Ron, Fred, George, and on one occasion, myself. She is very tense with all of Mr. Weasley's late nights at the Ministry; she believes that the Ministry isn't as safe as it used to after the fighting and all the deaths that occurred last school year. She is also missing you deeply; she was hoping your birthday would be spent here instead the home of your relatives but Dumbledore explained to her that it would be better it you spent most of your summer with your Aunt and Uncle – though I know you disagree._

_Fred and George have yet to visit but they have been sending owls frequently: apparently, their shop was a flop when it first opened but after much publicity in the forth coming days, it has become a huge hit; packed with customers everyday. Mrs. Weasley promised a visit once you had arrived and we were to shop for our school books._

_Ginny has spent most of the summer studying with my help. Her O.W.L.'s are this year and she had asked for my help as soon as I had arrived so I have been tutoring her through the written and oral aspects of every subjects; practical tutoring extends to the precise wand movements for spells as magic outside school is forbidden for those underage. In any case, she has been making significant improvements; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as well as I have no doubt that Ginny will pass with flying colors; and not just so to speak! One of these spells requires the user to create color out of thin air._

_Speaking of colors, Ronald has been attempting to redecorate his room. He said it needed severe redecoration after so many years of such a plain setting. But alas, in his attempts he turned his head yellow, his left arm green, his upper body red, his right knee turquoise, and Ginny tells me he shaded a certain part of anatomy a "very gay" shade of pink and yellow though when she tried to tell me which, Ron would blush and tell her to quiet down very rudely; this made me become very curious but I've let it slide. Apart from discoloring himself, Ron is quite lonely; it appears that without any social interaction with any male except his father, Ron has become as depressed as Moaning Myrtle – no offense to Myrtle of course. Ron truly misses Fred, George, and you, and all the Quidditch practices the four of you would get to. It is saddening to see him like this so I really hope you can come soon to cheer him up._

_As to what I have been doing; well, my interactions with the Weasley family have been portrayed as above. Other than that, I have been keeping contact with my family as much as possible and reading into sixth year as much as I can. School will be starting soon and I am very glad for many reasons: we will all be together once more, school will resume, we will be able to contact Dumbledore much easier, you will be safe; those are just to name a few._

_For you, I know the reasoning is very similar but I also know one reason stands out above all the others._

_I really think you shouldn't be so self-hating towards these feelings you have. Even if they are towards Dracia, they are still genuine feelings; whether it is a just a temporary infatuation or something deeper like love, you will find out eventually. Please do not beat yourself up over these feelings you have for her. Some people say that love can bring out the better side to a person; maybe your love can bring out the better side to Dracia._

_As I have learned throughout the years, she is not a person to easily understand. From what I've gathered, she is a stuck up, egocentric, selfish, rich girl with many fascist beliefs (understand that most are due to her surroundings; the way she's grown up). But even with this, I still cannot comprehend her completely; nothing is black and white with her but at the same time, nothing is all that colorful either – except maybe her language. She is as mysterious to me as she is to you; perhaps even more so. I implore you: do not allow yourself to be fooled. And do not judge through the observation of others; you yourself observe and deduce. Ron and I can assist very little in this matter; it is completely up to you to figure out whether Dracia Malfoy is worth your time and efforts. If she is, and if you feel that there is something that you see, that others can't, pursue her with the purest intentions._

_I hope this has helped you clear your thoughts and relax your body; that it what I was going for. In any case, please relax and relieve yourself of stress for the time being. Everyone misses you and wishes you a safe and enjoyable birthday. Oh my! This is certainly a long letter, isn't it? Well, I should really end it now._

_So in closing, a few final words of advice: Caution is advisable but too much caution may cause you to lose something precious. Understand this before you act on it._

_Love,  
Hermione J. Granger_

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_Dear Harry,_

_Hey, what's up, mate? How're the Muggles treating you? Remember what Moody said! They cause you any trouble and we'll give'em Hell!_

_Anyways, everyone's safe but nothing very interesting is happening here. I accidently turned myself different colors but that's kind of it._

_Hermione seemed to be writing a letter sometime before I wrote this; d'you think she's writing to Krum again? Not that I really care or anything, it's just that… she didn't even let me look at the letter before she sent it! Does she need to write to him so privately? What could she possibly write that needs to be kept so hush, hush?_

_Maybe she's writing a love letter? Ew; what Hermione see's in him, I'll never know. Thank goodness he's so far away! Not that I care, mind you!_

_Ah, anyways, the papers like the Daily Prophet have turned towards you, Harry. They keep complimenting you and everything! I reckon they're just trying to soften you up a bit in case you try to point out what they did last year. Hermione calls it an indirect apology but I call it codswallop! You should sue them for faulty stories, Harry! We could make hundreds! Millions, maybe!_

_Speaking of Galleons, Fred and George's business is booming, apparently. They're raking in loads of Galleons and said they'll help buy us our school supplies this year. Fantastic, right? Mum almost fainted in the kitchen when they sent the owl; she says now we have enough coins left over to survive till next year! Dad says he's proud though he almost fainted too; he'd spent night after night trying to cut expenses. We owe a lot to Fred and George now… __Damn it_

_Don't swear, Ronald!_

_Write on your own parchment, Hermione!_

_Anyways! Mum said she's expecting you here soon. We wanted you here before your birthday but Dumbledore said – he dropped by a few days ago – that you needed to stay with those Muggles a little longer. Dad said that Dumbledore is gonna get you tonight and bring you here. After that, things are gonna rush a bit. Mum is planning a trip to Diagon Alley the moment you come – after you've rested of course. Then after that, we'll be leaving to Hogwarts the very next day!_

_Sorry if you feel rushed or anything. The summer's been really dull without you. Hermione and Ginny are always shut up in a room, studying, talking, and sometimes, I swear I can hear giggling! I tried over hearing what they were giggling about but Ginny caught me and forced Mum to caste an __Imperturbable Charm_ _on the door so I can't hear a thing! It's getting me real angry now a days!_

_But in any case, nothing looks like it's gonna peach up any time soon without you around so I'm just counting down the hours. I can't wait until you finally come! Hermione said that by the time you reach this, it'll be around evening time and it'll be a couple of hours until Dumbledore comes! She said something about longitude and latitude and a space time thing – well, in the end she said it'll be evening time when you're reading this! So hearty evening!_

_And uh, just a quick question before I'm off: did Hermione send you a letter? Well, the question is more of… did she end it with "love"? I'm just wondering! Really, not all that important! Just wondering!_

_See you when you get here!_

_Your best mate,  
Ron Weasely._

Harry Potter stood near the window of his room, reading a letter from his two best friends, from the elegant penmanship of Hermione's writing to the scrawls of Ron's wording and the little bickering scribbles in between. He read and reread every line, taking in the precious information they provided.

Everyone was safe; meaning no one was harmed.

This fact alone caused a cool wave of relief to pass over Harry's body. He felt suddenly weak in the knees but remained upright; the only thing that would break his fall was the lumpy old mattress in his room; Dudley's former second bedroom.  
Though Harry had cleaned the place, thrown away broken television sets and beheaded action figures, wiped the dust from the closet, bed, floor, walls, and the small toilet table in the far right corner near the window, and actually let sunshine flow into the storage space; it continued to remain dull and rather depressing. But the thought of returning to Hogwarts for ten months consoled him greatly as did the thought of only two more years of Hogwarts left until he graduated, meaning he could finally move out and start his own life.

And by life, it meant to settle down in a place to call his own, find a part time job until his Auror training was over, and get a girlfriend at least…

The unwanted image of Dracia Malfoy flashed in his head and the effect was instantaneous: the weakness in his knees strengthened dramatically, causing poor Harry to collapse back on his lumpy bed; his heart beat doubled its current pace just as his breathing quickened; a hot blush crept stealthily up his neck and spread across his cheekbones for everyone to see; God, if this was just an infatuation, he didn't want to know what it would be like to love Dracia.

The word "love" seemed to loom over him; liquefy then evaporate into a light red mist; dance sensually above him, lowering inch by inch in tantalizing slowness; wrap seductively around him, heating his body with a comfortable fire; form a feminine hand to gently tug on his chin; and with pulling his face to meet hers, Dracia's petal soft lips pressed against his-

"Who's Dracia?"

Harry snapped out of his trance with a startled spasm of his body and in a flash, he lurched off his bed and snapped around to see Dudley standing on the threshold of his bedroom door, practically filling its entire space, with a bag of chips in one hand and the other disappeared inside said bag. His expression clearly told Harry that he had let slip Dracia's name; a gloating look blurred the natural color of his eyes and his visage was contorted into a distasteful sneer; a sneer that was so often placed on his face, one would think he was born that way.

"So?" Dudley pressed after shoving a fistful of chips into his mouth and shifting his weight from his left foot to his right. "Who's Dracia?"

"That's none of your business, Dudley." Harry answered sharply, regaining as much of his composure as he could. "She's just a girl." Harry added spitefully, seeing Dudley make no move to leave without information – more like embarrassment.

"A girl!" He exclaimed with mock shock. "Girlfriend?"

Harry suppressed a growl. "No, not my girlfriend. She's just a girl I know."

"Of course…" Dudley muttered. "What kind of girl would want to be _**your**_ girlfriend, especially one as pretty as this Dracia?"

"Just shut your mouth, Dudley!" Harry snapped, folding the letter from Hermione with such force, it was quite a surprise that the parchment didn't tear. After tossing the letter into his trunk, Harry noticed Dudley's continuous presence and let out a shaky, exasperated breath. He snapped his head to face his demented cousin with his mouth open to spout out some devious insult followed closely by a "Get out now!" but stopped: for some strange reason, Dudley's chip-stained lips were curled into a piggish gloating smirk. This baffled Harry to the extent of having him subconsciously lower his guard and allow the confusion to show on his face. This only caused Dudley to widen his smirk and narrow his eyes into slits; his ego practically gushing out of his body, screaming at Harry "You're so slow!" But what could it be?

Harry recalled the words spoken during his conversation with his cousin:

"_She's just a girl I know."_

"_Of course… What kind of girl would want to be your girlfriend, especially __**one as pretty as this Dracia**__?"_

Harry's eyes widened. "W-what did you sa-"

"She is very pretty if you get passed that ugly smirk." Dudley commented, wiping his salty fingers on his striped shirt. His smirk widened into a mischievous smile as he reached for his pocket and waved about a small square of paper – on further examination, Harry saw that it was a photo.

But not just any photo; it was the photo of Dracia Malfoy he had taken one afternoon out of curiosity and boredom. But after his feelings for Dracia had developed grandly, Harry kept this picture as some sort of keepsake – exactly why, he didn't even know himself. But he did know that the picture held significant value to, as Hermione had put it once, his heart.

Harry extended his arm. "Give it back." He ordered sternly.

But Dudley simply waved the photograph in front of the beady eyes he inherited from his mother. "Nah, I think I'll keep it for a while."

"Give it back **now**!" Harry ordered, extending his arm further. "It's mine so give it back to me, Dudley."

"You know…" Dudley mused aloud, raising a thick eyebrow while watching the blond haired girl dance about slowly in the moving magical photograph. "If she wasn't a freak like you, maybe I'd be interested."

In a split second, Dudley's scream echoed across the entire house: "MUMMY! HE'S DOING **IT**! HE'S DOING **IT**!"

The fat lump of a teenage boy sprinted across the hall, down the stairs, and into his mother's lap as fast as his short stout legs could carry him. He blubbered out incoherent words into his mother's lap but the scream and the echoing already informed an infuriated Vernon Dursley what had taken place – or what his bias allowed him to deduce.

Harry grabbed the photograph of the one he secretly admired and hid it behind his back just as his Uncle Vernon thundered into the room, looking ready to kill.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, BOY?" He boomed, narrowing the distance between himself and Harry.

"Dudley had my picture!" Harry tried to explain. "He wouldn't give it back so I just moved towards him to take it and he screamed!"  
This was the basic truth: upon hearing the insult Dudley uttered, Harry couldn't help himself from lurching forwards in pure anger, his hand instinctively reaching for the pouch he kept his wand in (though he wasn't wearing his ropes at the time). But simply seeing Harry's wand-hand twitch made Dudley flee in terror; Harry knew he had acted impulsively and the consequences wouldn't be light.

"YOU LIAR!" Uncle Vernon accused, his face turning an unhealthy shade of scarlet. "YOU WERE TRYING TO DO **THAT** AGAIN, WEREN'T YOU? YOU WERE GOING TO USE **IT** AGAINST DUDLEY!"

"Why bother asking me if you have your mind made up already?" Harry snapped back, irritated by his uncle's presence.

"Don't talk back, boy!" Uncle Vernon exclaimed; his yelling had ceased as his voice lowered to venomous hisses.

"Hadn't you asked me a question, though?" Harry retorted, readying himself for more yelling.

And it had indeed come.

"DON'T GET SNIPPY WITH ME, BOY!" Uncle Vernon thundered, taking a menacing step towards Harry.

"I'm not getting snippy!" Harry defended. "I'm trying to explain what happened! If Dudley hadn't stolen-"

"Dudley would never do such a thing!" Uncle Vernon snarled. "He was probably trying to return it because you had lost it!" He pointed an accusing finger at Harry before welling up. "And you attacked him for it – the poor boy! He was just trying to do good and he gets evil in return!"

_Oh of course!_ Harry mentally rolled his eyes. _The same poor boy who steals money from your wife's purse then blames it on me! And the same exact boy who sneaks out late night with his friends for a quick smoke!_  
The Dursley's blamed Harry Potter for everything that went wrong in the world; from the cause of World War I to the reason why Uncle Vernon had to get up every morning so early; this was all Harry's fault in the eyes of all three Dursley's. They were all so perfect and pleasant but Harry was just abnormal and weird because he could do things the Dursley's could never have imagined: magic.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, boy!" Uncle Vernon demanded, turning his back and heading to the door. He turned sharply and grasped the door handle with a podgy, sweaty hand. "As punishment, you will be locked up here with no dinner!" He slammed the door shut, muttering about weirdo's and freak's as he thundered down the stairs – with his weight, he could do nothing other than thunder down the creaking steps.

Harry kicked the trunk nearest him; angered at himself, his relatives, but most of all, angered at Dracia Malfoy.

He sat on his lumpy mattress and stared at the picture in his hands; Harry had always accepted the trouble if came along with her presence but she wasn't even here this time but still continued to cause him problems.

He narrowed his eyes at the happy girl in the picture.

Her shock of platinum blond hair danced in the air from her high pony tail as she moved around the picture in movements so fluid and precise, Harry could have sworn she had known of his taking her photograph. Her body, discarded of its usual green ropes, was clad in a wrinkled dress shirt with her silk green tie hanging loosely off her neck; her cuffs were undone and her sleeves were pushed up passed her elbows, revealing the soft, pale skin of her arms; and though he couldn't see it in this upper body shot, Harry knew she had been wearing her usual school skirt, hiked up an inch above school standards (for she always felt the need to disobey Dumbledore's – or anybody else's – orders) and the tiny Slytherin emblem sewn delicately on very bottom of her skirt near her right thigh; her black socks, Harry remembered, were the only article of clothing protecting her feet from the dew and dirt of the freshly cut green grass she was playing on. Upon closer examination of the picture, her high heeled dress shoes were discarded haphazardly on the lawn, near the edge of the picture. Her pink lips were curled into a smirk throughout the entire duration of the picture before it repeated itself. Exactly like this, many found her – though most of the time she had her shoes on. But other than that, this was how they – how Harry saw her at school.

But this was taken the year Harry had first realized his feelings for her – his fifth year.  
Could Dracia change her so casual appearance to suit something that Harry knew was not her?

The emerald eyes Harry inherited from Lily Potter gazed at the moving girl; so carefree; so happily oblivious to the emotional turmoil she put him through even when she wasn't to be seen. People change their appearances often when they are not satisfied with their current looks; Harry knew this. But he didn't want Dracia to be one of them; her appearance suited her perfectly, that was beyond a doubt. There was no way she could be unhappy by the radiance and beauty of her current visual aspect; at least, that is what Harry Potter hoped.

Resting the picture of Dracia Malfoy on his small toilet table, beside the picture of Lily and James Potter twirling about beneath a fall of snowflakes, and flicking off his bedside lamp, Harry tucked himself into bed, deciding that sleep is what he needed right now before Dumbledore arrived on his doorstep. His mind and body was strained and tired; Hermione would have a fit if she found out how he pushed himself that day, being the one to constantly nag him to take it easy after… well after what happened at the Ministry…

Harry barricaded his mind from unwanted memories of his Godfather's sudden departure from this world before snuggling into his pillow, letting thoughts of Dracia ease his mind.

Beneath all the deceit and lies, she was beautiful; he was sure of this.

Dracia Malfoy was like a diamond in the rough; Harry Potter only hoped that it was he who was destined to clean and cut that diamond for the entire world to see.

_Dracia…_

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	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Okay, first of all, this was done after a lot of writing and deleting (I still feel it might not be good enough) but, in spite of this feeling, I have finished it! (Mostly to finish this tedious annoyance). Second, I hardly had any access to the internet, meaning I couldn't post it even after I wrote and edited it. But thankfully, I've gotten access and have finally posted this (as you can obviously conclude). As for more chapters and my other stories, they'll take a while longer (I've been extremely busy). And lastly, thank you all for the positive feedback. After reading the reviews and receiving so many e-mails about the story alerts, I felt compelled to write another chapter.

I would like to extend a special thank you to for the constructive criticism she offered. The whole essay-letter was what I was going for but even I feel that I may have over done it a bit; I'll try not to overdo it again.

So, here what you all have been waiting for:

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**Harry Potter and the Forbidden Love  
**Chapter 1: Looks and attitude

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"Prefect duties."

"Sorry Harry!"

Harry watched as his two best friends pelted down the corridors of the brilliantly magenta Hogwarts Express, late for the debriefing in the Prefects' Carriage all the way at the front of the train. He sighed and turned his back on their retreating figures, beginning his search for an empty carriage. And no sooner had young Harry Potter found one completely empty; he slammed the sliding door open and dashed inside, grateful that no longer was anyone gawking at him with their mouths hanging open (and on one occasion, drool sliding down from the sides of their mouths to the bottom of their chin). Harry sighed again before hoisting his rectangular trunk on the luggage rack and collapsing into the seat nearest the large window.

Oh how time flew by; Harry had read and reread his copy of "Quidditch Through the Ages", had reviewed his homework thrice, checked his belongings for anything that could have possibly been missing, bought at least a week's worth of chocolate, toffee, and other confectionary treats when the trolley came by and devoured all of them; but even with all this activity, Harry couldn't help but reflect on the days past.

Cho Chang, Harry's former crush, passed nonchalantly by his carriage, her hair thrown behind her shoulders and bouncing elegantly as it always did.  
This brief glimpse brought back suppressed memories of Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts; a painfully confusing year for the young boy as so many events, good and bad, took place and emotional turmoil boiled to a heightened extent. It was in his fifth year, Harry exchanged his first, rather wet, kiss; developed – or rather, became aware of his feelings towards a girl he considered his archenemy for over four years; became dangerously violent – particularly towards Professor Albus Dumbledore – as Lord Voldemort's evil goings on would project in Harry's mind at random and his feelings would intertwine themselves with Harry's; declared a liar by the Daily Prophet's phony articles and in turn, by his classmate; endured the injustices of Dolores Umbridge; fought Lord Voldemort and his Death Eater cronies; and… and lost someone special…

Harry grinded his teeth together and grabbed the rough cloth of his dark blue jeans with a sweaty fist; his eyelids drew tightly close over his emerald pupils, the wrinkles due to the force evident and deep; his mind rebelled, replaying the horrifying last images of his godfather in slow motion: this wasn't exactly the most comforting memory. In fact, it was this memory that haunted poor Harry throughout his seasonal vacation in Private Drive; nights were spent tossing and turning, and occasionally falling noisily on the wooden floor, as the memory joined the mere moments of Cedric Diggory's last breath in haunting the already ghosted mind and memory of young Harry Potter; the days were spent with the shadows of those lost stalking his every residing place, feeling their presence near him, their cold breath on the nape of his neck, their voice whispering bittersweet melodies to tease his ever listening ears, but for every instance of weakness, there is always disappointment and even more pain to follow: they were never there, would never be there, could never be there; yet more proof: they were really gone.

But do not believe that life is too cruel in this way, dear reader. For every instance of weakness and the pain that inevitably followed, there was one, simple yet beautiful image of a young girl impressed deep in his subconscious that put his mind slowly into temporary ease: the same girl he was enamored with yet at the same time despised with the same heated passion of his captivation.

Dracia would instantaneously appear before his mind's eye, as though his subconscious was adapted to this method of ease like his body's natural, involuntary breaths of air.

And as if on cue, ease had opened his compartment door, that same proud look on her face.

"Well, well. If it isn't our little 'Chosen One'." Dracia Malfoy drawled, her long blond hair waving passed her shoulders with the ends curling inwards, seemingly purposely, around the mound of her breasts.

With a quick examination (during which Harry attempted in vain to keep his eyes from gleaming his want), Harry hitched his sigh of relief in his throat for another time: Dracia Malfoy hadn't changed significantly from the last glimpse of her magnificent shock of hair and frame-complimenting school uniform: her skirt was, obviously, hiked up an inch or so above school standards and a freshly sewn Slytherin emblem donned the side of her skirt proudly; her hair retained its length and enticing style but somehow, the blond of her hair changed in shade, darker but glossier than before; her upper body was discarded of its school jumper, revealing a perfectly unkempt dress shirt, the top buttons left undone, revealing the smooth skin of her alluring collarbones; her sleeves were, as usual, pushed up passed her elbows and her stripped green tie hung loosely around her graceful neck; but, yet again, her face was drenched in an unnecessary amount of make-up, with a light red lip-stick and lip gloss coating her naturally pink lips, pink blush brushed on her high cheek bones, mascara and eye-shadow caked her slate colored eyes: she looked like a life-sized glass doll.

The day Harry had taken her picture, Dracia Malfoy wasn't wearing any make-up, which was very unlike her: always, she was seen with her layer of make-up masking her face; never had she walked out of her prefect dorm without it. But something had compelled her that day, whether it may be pure laziness or idle curiosity, something compelled her to spend her Saturday afternoon playing and dancing out on the Hogwarts lawn with the company of her Slytherin cronies without her usual glorified face; something Harry dearly thanked Merlin for! But alas, it did not last…

"Where is your gang of doe-eyed girls or gawping boys, 'Chosen One'?" The Dracia of the present continued her traditional beginning-of-the-school-year taunt. "I thought that deformed forehead of yours was at least good enough for you to get some friends."

"I do have friends, Malfoy." Harry retorted calmly, mentally chiding himself for almost letting slip her first name. "It seems you don't like that I chose them over you."

Oh, he definitely shouldn't have said that…

"Oh believe me, Potter, if I knew what kind of people you considered 'better than others', I would never have bothered to even look your way." Venom was almost visibly laced with her words; her eyes narrowed as she made a nearly undetectable struggle to keep her emotions in line; Harry, giving silent thanks to Hermione for forcing him to read "How to Read Emotions", intently gazed in Dracia's momentarily distracted eyes and read, what he thought, was impossible: damaged pride, anger, and regret…?

"But it doesn't matter." Dracia abruptly continued, taking a slow step forward. "That is in the past." She took another slow step, longer this time: she was fully in the compartment now. "We should focus on the future…" Her voice was lighter than usual: airier, smoother, _sexier_. Harry only vaguely registered the occupants of the suddenly stuffy compartment: Dracia and himself; her gorilla-like bodyguards were nowhere to be seen. "Because we don't know…" And as abruptly as her strange speaking and slow stepping, Dracia leaned closer to Harry, slipping a nearly naked leg between his open legs: oh how teasingly close her kneecap was! She slid a feminine finger underneath his chin and gently pushed his face to meet hers, lips a mere inch apart. "… what the future holds for us…"

Then she was gone, like a passing breeze: joyous for the weary traveler with its momentary succor, and once gone, as the winds sway west, leaves in its remnants a yearning for relief from the heated star.

Her movements, Harry reflected, were quite fluid albeit their precipitancy. They left him in a state of shocked stillness, lasting until the temporarily forgotten anticipated return of the two Gryffindor Prefects:

"Hey, what's up with Harry? He looks like he needs the loo."

"Ronald! Stop poking him!"

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	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Well, finally got a laptop! Yay! But personally, this chapter isn't great. Kind of just a filler chapter, I suppose. I know, I know; not a very good "I'm Back, Witches!" chapter. But tried! Writer's block is such a curse! And even though it's summer, I have so much work to do. And I need to find a new job that will fit in my school year! I'm too busy for my own. But in any case, I've managed to finish this chapter and will try to work on another one, but for which story, I've got no idea…

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**Harry Potter and the Forbidden Love  
**Chapter 2: The First Day Back

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"As most of you are already aware, your penultimate year here at Hogwarts determines your future career and shapes your life outside these castle walls." Professor McGonagall's reasonably scratched voice cut through the silence just like the piercing gaze of her hawk-like eyes had cast on the once tumultuous classroom, silencing them immediately. The elderly woman took quick strides across the front of the classroom, hands pressed tightly together with her fingers laced, and continued her traditional sixth year's lecture. "N.E.W.T. students must be aware of the responsibilities, both in life and in work that will be imposed on them this year by the teachers of Hogwarts. Folly and indolence will not be tolerated, especially in my classroom."

Harry grunted softly behind the paper walls of his Transfiguration textbook, an ink blotched page curving over his mess of hair. His hands, hidden underneath his desk, unconsciously fiddled with a feather quill he borrowed from Hermione this morning as he had forgotten his own quill set somewhere in his haphazardly packed school trunk. The same school trunk which lay opened and ransacked at the foot of a messy, unmade bed, its sheets and duvet tangled within each other. Such was proof of Harry's most horrifying and confusing nightmare yet.

Professor McGonagall was in love with him.

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry shot straight in his seat. Similar to his dream, Professor McGonagall stood stately before him, but a distinct change could be discerned: her face was glowing with fury, not burning with lustful passion.

Her nostrils flared angrily. "Do pay attention, Mr. Potter, or there will be consequences."

"Yes, Professor." Harry's face burned bright with embarrassment; barely audible giggles and whispered murmurs filled the classroom, but one was most certainly distinguishable from the rest.

Dracia Malfoy's condescending yet soft laugh rang in Harry's ears like the final prolonged note of a beautiful symphony echoing off the curved walls of a high ceiling opera house. Withal, it stung him with the intensity of a thousand blades piercing one single point on his body: his heart.

..:::~:::~:::~:::~:::~:::~:::..

"And then, McGonagall leaned in closely-"

"Shut up, Ron."

"And whispered: 'Please take me!'"

"Shut up!"

Ron doubled over in laughter while Harry attempted to kick him the side but missed and landed flat on his bum. Ron, blinded by increased laughter, involuntarily took a step forward and tripped over Harry's sprawled legs, falling on his stomach and having the wind knocked out of him. This was Harry's turn to laugh and exact delicious revenge: Harry ruffled Ron's flaming hair (for he knew how much Ron hated that), stole Ron's left shoe, and made a break for it. Harry barely ran four inches from Ron before the older boy grabbed Harry's pant leg and pulled him back down. The shoe was sent flying high in the air, only to drop in Hermione's outstretched hands. Silence reigned for a few moments: Harry and Ron looked at Hermione; Hermione looked at them both; they looked at each other… and broke out play-fighting.

All the while, Hermione looked curiously at the two of them with a small smile playing her lips.

"You seem to have a flare for idiocy, Potter."

Dracia passed by their display of male idiocy, paused to stare at the worn out trainer in Hermione's hands incredulously, and then continued to the Great Hall for lunch.

Harry stared at Dracia as she continued to the Great Hall, mesmerized by the outline of her body and the sway of her hips as she did that little swagger of hers. Her hair gently shifted but stayed perfectly windswept; her hands (consciously or unconsciously, Harry did not know) fingered the Slytherin emblem sewn on the bottom of her skirt, near her thigh; and as she turned the corner, Harry felt her slate grey eyes lock with his emerald ones for a millisecond to the third party viewer. But to Harry, it felt smaller.

"Hey, Harry! What are you doing?"

Jack Sloper, one of the two Beaters from last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, stared strangely down at Harry with a small, folded piece of parchment in his hand.

Harry, still holding Ron's entire weight off by shoving a foot in his face as Ron tried to claw at Harry with his uncut nails, looked up at Jack with an unconvincing smile. An uncomfortable silence ensued, only the sound of Ron's aggravated grunts could be heard.

"Uh…"

Cough.

"Grrr…!"

"Honestly!" Hermione sighed. She grabbed Ron's shoulder and with impressive strength, pulled him off Harry. "Boys are such idiots…"

"Just yours, Hermione!" Jack playfully teased.

Harry laughed awkwardly, getting to his feet and dusting off his school robes. "You wanted something, Jack?"

"Yeah, Jack! What'd you want? I was just about to cream him!" Ron cursed under his breath as he slipped his trainer back on. (His words earned him a harsh reproach from Hermione)

"I was just wondering when Quidditch tryouts were going to take place. I want to prepare."

"Oh!" He had completely forgotten. "Um, maybe sometime next week?"

"Awesome!" Jack enthusiastically slapped Harry's shoulder with a wide grin. "Also, I was told to give you this."

Jack handed Harry the folded piece of parchment and left them with a hearty "Bye!".

Harry looked at the parchment closely:

_Dear Harry,_

_As sudden as this may seem, I would like to start your private lessons this Friday at 8 p.m. Please kindly make your way to my office then. I hope you are enjoying your first day back._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. Though Madam Pomfrey will scold me for this, please bring along with you a few Acid Pops. I enjoy them very much._

"I have some Acid Pops with me, if you need them." Ron said, reading the message over his shoulder.

"That's the password to get passed the gargoyles, Ron." Hermione stated matter-of-factly, reading the note as well.

"I still think you should take some…" Ron muttered darkly.

"I wonder what Dumbledore has planned." Hermione whispered excitedly.

"Me too."

Hermione's excitement was contagious. Harry wanted nothing more than for Friday night to arrive faster than a finger snap. But he knew life wasn't that kind so he settled with speculating what his future lessons would be like with Ron and Hermione as all three friends walked to the Great Hall.

It was funny how fast time flies when three friends were discussing in hushed whispers the prospects of learning advanced new jinxes and hexes that could match the power of ten Death Eaters combined ("I highly doubt that is possible, let alone legal, Ronald." "Let me at least dream, Hermione!"). But before they knew it, the lone bell at the very top of the Astronomy Tower rang, the powerful, everlasting charm cast upon it by Rowena Ravenclaw causing it to be heard all across the castle. This specific ring meant one thing as Ron double checked their timetables: Potions with Professor Slughorn.

..:::~:::~:::~:::~:::~:::~:::..

For the past five years, the trip to the dreary dungeon classroom was filled with dark prospects and Ron's occasional declaration to 'accidentally' poison Snape with a special killing potion that kills slowly and painfully, whose name Ron kept forgetting ("Whatever! I'll call it the Super-Awesome-Perfect-for-Snape killing potion!"). But now, with a new, unknown teacher filling the post of Potions Master, the trip down the narrow, torch lit corridor was strangely lighter than usual.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last of the class to arrive in front of the classroom. Including themselves, there were only a dozen students progressing to N.E.W.T. level Potions. Four vaguely recognizable Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff boy Harry immediately recognized as Ernie Macmillan were presently making small talk. And just like during Harry's encounter with her, Dracia wasn't flanked by her usual two gargoyle bodyguards, but she was accompanied by two male Slytherins and another female Slytherin. The contrast between Dracia's sculpted face and the pug-like features of Pansy Parkinson was made all the more stark when Parkinson tried to mimic Dracia's cool indifference to those around her.

But Dracia's indifference soon morphed into a playful smirk at the sight of Harry. What was going on in her head at that moment as she eyed him up and down with that enticing smirk, Harry could only imagine and for the second time today, Harry felt self-conscious about his appearance, specifically the blood rising to his cheeks.

"Are you okay, mate? You look red." Ron said concernedly, touching Harry's cheek with the back of his hand and slowly following his locked gaze.

Thankfully, the dungeon doors opened wide before Ron could link Harry's stare to Dracia's flirtatious motions and Professor Slughorn's round belly preceded him into the corridor. He motioned all the students inside and greeted them individually as they entered but greeted Harry and Blaise Zabini of Slytherin with peculiar zealous. Dracia, who was expecting to be treated the same way, if not better, was in particular shock and anger with the half-hearted greeting she received.

But any bad emotion she felt melted when she stepped into the classroom. The room was unusually filled with vapors of different potions simmering in black cauldrons on the teacher's desk. The scent of each potion filled the nostrils of each student as they slowly passed each one. But a cauldron full of a gold colored liquid caught especial interest: it emitted the most seductive scent the students had ever smelled as the vapor gilded the air above it with an attractive golden mist.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron raced to the table closest to this dizzyingly intoxicating potion. Ernie plopped down on the extra seat next to them, a drunken look on his face. The four of them breathed in deeply and slowly, savoring every moment like an especially flavorful drink. A strange euphoria passed over them and they were contented.

"Now then, now then! Students, focus!" Professor Slughorn's voice pierced through their contentment, but not entirely extinguishing it. The round Professor stood at the front of the classroom, beside the table laden with potions, with a big smile curving his walrus mustache. "Books, scales, and potion kits out everyone!"

"Sir?" Harry interjected.

"Yes, m'boy?"

"Well, I thought I wouldn't be taking Potions this year so I haven't gotten any scales or anything. Neither does Ron."

Professor Slughorn laughed heartily. "No problem, no problem, Harry, m'boy! Take all the ingredients from the cupboards today, there are a few spare sets of scales, and luckily, I have two battered potions books you can use until you can order a brand new one from Flourish and Blotts." He handed Harry and Ron the old potions books along with two sets of worn scales.

"Now then! Let us refocus!" Professor Slughorn declared, repositioning himself in front of the students. "I have concocted a few potions here" (He gestured to the simmering cauldrons beside him) "for your interest. These are the types of potions you will be able to make by the end of this year. Now who can tell me what potion this is?" This time, Professor Slughorn gestured to a specific cauldron: its contents were clear. So clear, in fact, Harry thought it was simply boiling water.

With five years of practice, Hermione's hand cut the air before anyone else could even flinch. "It's Veritaserum: a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth." Hermione recited word for word from Advanced Potion-Making when Professor Slughorn pointed at her.

"Very good, very good!" Professor Slughorn commented brightly. He then gestured to the cauldron beside the Veritaserum. "This one is featured in Ministry leaflets nowadays, so it is pretty well-known. Who can tell us-"

"Polyjuice Potion, sir. With a piece of someone's DNA, like hair, the drinker can transform into that person fully. But only for an hour." Hermione answered yet again with the reflexes of a cat on alert.

Harry recognized the bubbling, mud-like substance in the second cauldron as well. Glancing at Hermione, Harry could instantly tell that she was bursting to say she already knew how to make it. She did, after all, concoct a successful Polyjuice Potion in her second year.

Professor Slughorn had simply gestured to the third cauldron, the one emitting those seductive scents, before Hermione's hand cut the air once more.

"Amortentia, sir. It's the most powerful love potion in the world."

At this, Dracia and Pansy Parkinson seemed to lean in closer to the cauldron with interest.

"Quite right, quite right, my bright girl!" Professor Slughorn clapped his hands repeatedly together, making Hermione turn a light shade of pink. "I suppose, you recognized it by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

Hermione nodded overzealously. "And by the characteristic spirals of the rising steam. And it's supposed to smell differently to everyone, according to what attracts us. And I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment, and-" But Hermione turned pink and shrunk into her seat, leaving her sentence unfinished.

Harry leaned forward in interest, sniffing in the coquettish scent of the love potion, trying to decipher exactly what he smelled: treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and a dull, yet sensational scent of cherry blossoms that he swore he smelled before.

Professor Slughorn ignored Hermione's embarrassment but continued to stare at her, deeply impressed. "What is you name, my dear?"

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Could you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"Not very likely, sir. I am Muggleborn, you see."

Harry saw Parkinson whisper something in Dracia's ear; the two girls sniggered quietly. But Professor Slughorn showed no displeasure; in fact, he showed the opposite.

"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggleborn, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend you were speaking of, Harry?"

"Yes, sir." Harry replied.

"Well, well, take a well-earned thirty points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," Declared Professor Slughorn jubilantly.

"Did you really tell him I'm the best in our year? Oh, Harry!" Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and a sincere smile.

Ron muttered, disgruntled. "So what? I would've told him the same thing if I met him earlier…" But Hermione just shushed him, disgruntling him further.

Harry glance in front of him: Dracia was glaring hatefully at Hermione. Now this shouldn't be strange as Dracia had an open prejudice towards Muggleborns, but this glare was more intense than prejudiced hatred. There was more substance to it; more feeling was added than usual to the glare that made it more piercing, more penetrating.

An old saying that Sirius had once told Harry popped in his head: _"Jealousy makes a woman fiercer than a Blast-Ended Skrewt on heat."_

..:::~:::~:::~:::~:::~:::~:::..

"That's cheating, Harry!" Hermione reproached.

"Leave him be, Hermione!" Ron retorted rudely.

Hermione pressed her lips in a thin line and contorted her face with anger, speeding up her pace and disappearing around a corner to her next class: Ancient Runes.

"What's her problem?" Ron muttered, confused. "I can't believe she's not happy that you won that lucky liquid potion, Felixus Felial."

"Felix Felicis, Ron. And she's probably not happy because I used this Half-Blood Prince's instructions instead of the 'official' instructions." Harry replied, grasping the tiny bottle of liquid luck tightly in his pocket.

"Slughorn could've handed me the Prince's book, but no, I got the one no one's ever written on. Puked on, by the looks of page fifty-five, but-"

Harry just shook his head and continued to walk towards the Gryffindor Tower. On the outside, Harry was calm and contented, but on the inside, Harry felt confused and impatiently thirsty for information. He couldn't help but wonder what Dumbledore wanted to teach him 8 p.m. this Friday, who the Half-Blood Prince was, and why Dracia Malfoy had glared so hatefully at Hermione.

..:::~:::~:::~:::~:::~:::~:::..


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: **My life has been so hectic lately. I wish I could settle down and continue writing my lovely fanfiction. Oh well… I'll try to the best of my abilities.

**A brief note:** Some of the memories that Dumbledore shows Harry during their private lessons have been altered. So don't expect an exact replica of what was written in the sixth book.

DRARRY FTW!!!!

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Forbidden Love  
**Chapter 3: The First Private Lesson: Meeting

* * *

Knock. Knock.

Silence.

Knock!

"Come in! Come in, dear Harry!" Dumbledore's ages yet strong voice boomed from behind the iron double doors of the Headmaster's office.

Harry Potter entered his Headmaster's office, literally glowing with excitement.

Friday could not have come fast enough. This entire week had treated Harry dreadfully: not only did he accidently walk into the Great Hall in a Gryffindor jumper and his red and white striped boxers with a lion sprawled across the front side of said boxers, but also, the same day, Harry saw Dracia holding hands with Ernie Macmillan. The apple of Harry's eye was affectionately drawing circles on Harry's now-archenemy's chest while said archenemy gazed at her with disbelief and slight discomfort in his eyes. As despised as Dracia may be, Hufflepuff's male students had the tendency of "humoring" her seductive attempts; girls were never usually as _bold_ as Dracia was. Moreover, the last time a man rejected Dracia's romantic attempts, he filed for a restraining order then fled the country after the order was mysteriously rejected. Needless to say, fear motivated the humoring. But regardless of whether it was being enjoyed by Ernie or not, Harry felt a stab of jealousy and regretted giving that menace his Bridget Wenlock chocolate frog card.

"Dear Harry. Are you feeling well?" Dumbledore's voice broke through Harry's retrospective thoughts. "You seem distracted."

"Just a bad week." Harry replied shortly. He shrugged his shoulders and cleared his throat, signaling to Dumbledore that he did not wish to go into detail.

Dumbledore smiled. "I see. Let us continue our lesson."

Harry nodded, taking a seat and resting his cold, sweaty hands on his knees.

Dumbledore stood up and walked about the room, pausing every now and again to examine objects with keen interest. "The Dark Lord has risen. The Wizarding World can no longer deny this fact. Have you been keeping up with the Daily Prophet, Harry?"

"Not the Daily Prophet, sir." Harry answered, keeping his eyes on Dumbledore. "But I have been up to date with the Muggle news. Weird things were reported that I could only guess do be the doing of Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

"Good, good." Dumbledore muttered, moving from a cabinet labeled "Antidotes" to the Remembralls aligned neatly on a small shelf. He grabbed one and squeezed it. Dumbledore stared pensively at the deep scarlet smoke moving gently within the confines of the magical glass ball. "As you know, the Death Eaters are on the move, destroying everything in their paths. From their pattern, I can only deduce that they are looking for something."

"Makes sense, Professor." Harry interjected excitedly. "The Death Eaters attack an area and turn it upside down, then leave it!"

"Yes, Harry. Yes they do." Dumbledore continued patiently. He placed the Remembrall back on the shelf then moved to admire the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, touching the garnet gems encrusted in the sword with gentle adoration. "I feel that Lord Voldemort is preparing, not for a war, but for a conquest. He doesn't want to take chances again, having almost lost his life that night.

"We need to prepare for this, Harry. A great evil is becoming even greater in strength and power. We need to be ready to face any and all challenges that lay ahead." Dumbledore moved swiftly and suddenly, startling Harry. "Challenges of the mind." With his thin fingers, Dumbledore picked up a cube and placed it in the single empty slot of a three dimensional cube puzzle. "Challenges of the body." The puzzle, completed, emanated a faint white glow before disappearing and for the first time, Harry noticed that Dumbledore's hand was blackened and withered as he reached inside the hidden compartment. "And… challenges of the heart." Dumbledore withdrew a blood red heart-shaped jewel and gave Harry a peculiar look, almost as though he was… worried for him.

"Professor…?"

"Come here, Harry." Dumbledore ordered, taking long strides to a locked cabinet with beautifully carved designs, golden edges, and a heart-shaped recess at the very center.

Harry bolted out of seat and was next to Dumbledore immediately. The elderly professor placed the jewel in the recess and within moments, the cabinet doors moved aside with an ear-splitting screech and a pedestal carrying a shallow stone basin with carved runes and strange symbols was revealed. A silvery substance that Harry recognized filled the basin, cloud-like; neither liquid nor gas, but a combination of both, if such a thing were possible.

"Professor…?" Harry muttered, mesmerized by the flow of the silvery substance.

"Yes, my boy?"

"What are we going to use the Pensieve for?"

"To fight against a great enemy, you must first understand how they came to be." Dumbledore answered, taking his wand out of his inner cloak pocket and pointing it at his temple. "We are going to look into the past and watch Tom Marvolo Riddle's descent into the darkness of Lord Voldemort."

"… Professor…"

Dumbledore closed his eyes and muttered a few words, causing the tip of his wand to glow a blinding silver. The elderly professor slowly withdrew his wand from his temple, a thin string of silver being drawn from his mind, and emptied it in the stone basin where it swirled about in a silvery haze before taking shape into a peculiar scenery. "Come now, Harry! Keep a sharp eye for detail!"

Harry felt a pull on his hand and before he could utter a word, was plunged face first into the memory of Albus Dumbledore.

Much like his first trip into the Pensieve, Harry landed gently on his feet before incredulously taking in everything around him. Enclosed in a large alleyway between two buildings, Harry walked through the eccentric youths and young couples and made his way to what could only have been the main street, Dumbledore following and admiring the couples with sad eyes. It was nearly evening, about 5:30 from the position of the sun, but the cobblestone streets were completely packed with people. Both sides of the street were lines with identical red-bricked buildings, on one side, residential and on the other, local stores and other places for public gathering. There were banners hanging from some of the buildings and between lamp posts with amiable sayings, such as "Come and Enjoy!" and "The Liveliest Place in All of England!" and flags from all around the world donning the tops of light posts with the occasional board reading, "The Most Integrated Place in the World!"

And Harry understood why. He looked at the faces of the men and women talking animatedly while walking up and down the street and was astonished at the level of integration. Exotic looking women from East Asia were sharing Cherry double popsicles with children of South African and Arabian ethnicity. South Asians were trading recipes with North Americans while sipping French chai lattes. And the religious diversity was equally astounding, if not more so. Sitting in the corner of a lively café were a group of Muslims and Jews chatting with such gaiety and mirth, Harry found it hard to believe that they were enemies, as the Muggle news stations would report. An Atheist and a Christian were having a calm, intelligent conversation about the existence of God without insulting or ridiculing each other in haughty, self-righteous tones.  
It was a diversity so many people longed for, but were too scared to attempt. The ethnic and religious groups mingling and enjoying each other's company; it was a perfect society.

"Ideal, isn't it?" Dumbledore's voice rang and broke Harry's stupor. Harry turned to find Dumbledore staring at the figures of every friendly being with a solemn sadness. "Half of these people are wizards and witches…"

"Really?" Harry asked disbelievingly.

"Yes, my boy." Dumbledore replied with a short nod and a forced smile. "There are even Purebloods here…"

"Wow…" Harry muttered, smiling at the picture for the very first time. He enjoyed this. Everyone was getting along. There were no fights, no anger, just peace. A peace he only wished this world would come to…

"Such a pity…" Dumbledore's pained voice muttered mysteriously. "Their end it approaching… And they don't even realize…"

Harry looked at Dumbledore. The wrinkles in his face were prominent, intensified by grief. His eyes shone behind his spectacles and his eyebrows knitted together. Harry followed his gaze and found another Dumbledore walking slowly yet energetically down the street.

"Let us follow my younger self, Harry." Dumbledore instructed, abruptly breaking into long strides.

Harry followed quickly, taking note of the fact that the "younger" Dumbledore didn't look much younger. His hair and beard were still white and his nose just as crooked, but the wrinkles and stress lines that haunted the present Dumbledore were nowhere to be seen on the younger one. This made Harry realize…

They were about to witness Dumbledore's first meeting with Tom Riddle.

The younger Dumbledore took a sharp turn left and headed down a surprisingly clean alleyway. He then paused for a moment and stood perfectly still. Harry grew excited, what was to happen?

"Achoo!"

"Forgive my past self, Harry." Dumbledore said with a small laugh. "I have been told that I was a tad overdramatic in those days."

"It's ok, Professor."

The young Professor wiped his nose with a white and pink lace hanky and continued. He strode a few more steps before coming to another stop in front of a black door with the words "Orphanage" written in white. Dumbledore rapped the door thrice and waited patiently for an answer.

"Coming~!" A feminine voice rang. The black door flew open to reveal the heavenly image of a forty-something, gentle looking woman wearing a black and white checkered apron and carrying a tray laden with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Her eyes glowed and her smile widened. "Why, good sir! Are you here to adopt one of my lovely younglings?"

"Possibly." There was also a difference in voice between the present Dumbledore and his younger self. While the present Dumbledore had an aged, throaty voice, the younger Dumbledore had a delightfully energetic voice that contrasted greatly with his appearance.

The woman looked ecstatic. "I'll call a little line up for you and you can intervi-"

"No need, my dear woman. No need." Dumbledore interjected, shaking his hand. "I am here to see and interview a specific little boy. You know him by the name of Tom Riddle, I assume?"

"Ah…" The woman's voice lost some of its vivacity and her look changed from spirited to somewhat dismayed. "Ah. The Riddle boy…"

"Yes." Dumbledore smiled, despite the woman's sudden change in tone and appearance. "Please lead me to him, dear…?"

"Plum, sir. But everyone calls me Sugarplum." The woman regained some of her spirits as she stepped aside and allowed Dumbledore to step over the threshold. "Come this way, sir."

"A well suited name."

Dumbledore smiled and commented on every little detail of the house and praised Sugarplum for her excellent taste in doilies. She blushed humbly and offered Dumbledore some tea, who gratefully refused, saying he must be on his way as soon as possible.

"I shall bring the boy." Sugarplum said, her voice faltering in sweetness a bit. She then left the room to fetch "the boy".

The younger Dumbledore gazed about the cozy sitting room, filled with little ornaments and tiny knick-knacks. It was of a decent size, with pictures of and made by young children hanging on the wall, giving it a homey feel. It seemed like a pleasant place to live, even as an orphan.

Three little children ran by, playing tag. Upon sighting Dumbledore, they stopped and stared at him and his "weird" attire with child-like curiosity. The bravest of the three, a young girl, approached Dumbledore shyly and offered him a small sugar cookie. Dumbledore smiled and took the sugar cook and ate it in one big gulp. He then raised his hand, made a few weird hand gestures, and gasped. The little girl grew frightened when Dumbledore reached for her ear. She shut her eyes and whimpered. But Dumbledore, with another gasp, magically pulled that same sugar cookie from behind the little girl's ear, warmly smiling.

As he ate the sugar cookie once more, the three children gasped and cheered, forgetting any doubts they had as to whether the man in the weird clothing was bad.

Anyone who can do magic is a good man!

Or so their young minds believed.

"Wow." Sugarplum's voice rang once more. She clapped her hand together. "That was wonderful! How did you do that?"

"Magic" Dumbledore stated warmly, sending a knowing look at the young boy standing next to Sugarplum, who suspected nothing of it.

The young boy, Harry could only suspect to be Tom Riddle, returned the look with a smile. A strange smile…

"Ah! Sir, you're on fire!" Sugarplum exclaimed, running out of the room to get a bucket of water. But by the time she returned, Dumbledore had already stamped it out. Sugarplum apologized profusely and gave Tom a worried look. But Dumbledore simply waved his hand and shook his head.

"May I have a private word with young Mr. Riddle?"

Sugarplum obeyed his request and ushered the three young children out of the room, threw the pair another worried glance, and left the room.

"I know what you are." Tom immediately raised his voice and widened his eyes accusingly. "You're one of those folk who can do magic I've read about in books! A wizard!"

Dumbledore smiled adoringly and nodded. "So are you."

Young Tom Riddle's reply may seem surprising, but considering that this was the boy who would inevitably turn into the Dark Lord, this reply is to be expected: "I knew there was something different about me. Something special."

"There is indeed, something special about you, my dear boy. Something very special." Dumbledore stared thoughtfully at the young boy for a few minutes before being rudely snapped out of his train of thought.

"What now?" Tom rudely asked. He gazed expectantly at Dumbledore, as though he had been expecting something like this to happen.

Dumbledore smiled at Tom's child-like audacity. "My dear Tom. I have come from quite a while away to meet you."

"From where?" Tom interrupted impatiently.

"My school: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"There's a school!?" Tom jumped excitedly. He hadn't been expecting a _school_!

"Yes, and I would like you to attend."

Again, Tom interrupted Dumbledore. "Yes! I say yes! I can pack all my things in fifteen minutes! And we can be off and away from this place!"

"Not yet, Tom. Not yet." Dumbledore muttered. He quickly raised his hand to silence Tom's indignant "Why!?". "You are not old enough to attend just yet. But you will be by the end of this summer."

"That's two month away!" Tom complained, stomping his foot on the ground. He screwed up his face and within seconds, the ornate glass vase behind Dumbledore shattered into pieces with a loud crash.

"I-is everything alright!?" Came Sugarplum's anxious voice through the closed door.

"Everything is fine, my dear. It's perfectly fine!" Dumbledore replied calmly. His eyes were gazing intently at Tom, though. "Wandless magic already… Dear Tom, you are indeed very talented…"

"So let me in early!"

"The school is closed for the summer, Tom. Even if I wanted to let you in early, I could not." Dumbledore replied. He stood up and brushed himself off, preparing to leave.

"No!" Tom objected, glaring at Dumbledore. "You can NOT leave!"

"But I must, my boy." Dumbledore replied, patting Tom lightly on the head. Tom slapped Dumbledore's hand away and continued to glare accusingly at him. Dumbledore understood. "I will be back, dear Tom. I promise you."

"Promise me you'll take me away from here." Tom demanded, eyes darkening slightly.

"I promise, Tom." Dumbledore smiled. "I will visit you again and when September arrives, I shall take you away from here and whisk you off to my school, where you will learn how to be a proper wizard. Wizard's honor."

Tom was satisfied with that. His glare instantly turned into a charming smile and he stepped aside with the air of royalty giving leave to a servant to depart.

"Sugarplum." Dumbledore gently called. Almost immediately, the woman entered the room and hastily glanced around to see if anything was broken or caught on fire. She saw the shattered vase and stifled a moan, knitting her eyebrows together. Dumbledore coughed and caught her attention once more. "I shall return to see Mr. Riddle within a few days. As for now, I must leave to attend to certain duties."

Sugarplum was flustered. "Oh! I see… Well, um, thank you for coming. I do hope that your stay wasn't… unpleasant…"

Dumbledore smiled warmly at the woman. "It was particularly pleasurable."

"Mhm." Sugarplum smiled and ushered Tom out of the room. The young boy gave the woman a sour look before shrugging her hands off of him and departing the room himself. Sugarplum stared after the boy and sighed.

"I shall be off now." Dumbledore bowed and left the orphanage as energetically as he had arrived, despite the wearisome encounter.

"It is time for us to go, as well." Dumbledore of the present said. He waved his wand and in an instant, both professor and pupil were back in the office.

Harry's knees buckled and he grabbed Dumbledore's arm for support. It was then that he noticed that, underneath his cloak, Dumbledore was shaking, almost shivering. Harry raised his eyes, trying to meet the professor's, but Dumbledore swiftly drew away and strode to his seat, leaving Harry to stare.

"Come sit, my dear boy." Dumbledore said, taking an electric blue blueberry hard candy from his candy bowl and placing it softly in his mouth. "Ah… The shock in this one is particularly strong…"

"Professor… That was your first meeting with Tom Riddle… right?" Harry took a seat and stared at Dumbledore.

"Yes, Harry… Yes…" Dumbledore muttered. He laced his fingers together on his desk and gazed at Harry. "Did you notice anything, Harry? Anything… strange?"

Harry shifted a bit. "Yes, sir. Tom Riddle seemed a bit… demanding and forceful."

"Not just a bit, Harry." Dumbledore commented, nodding. "Tom Riddle was very demanding and forceful. Anything else?"

"Yes. That woman, Sugarplum, seem- looked scared of Tom. Like he was dangerous. I think it was because he could do wandless magic and she just couldn't explain why."

"Very good observation, Harry." Dumbledore praised. He leaned forward with a serious expression. "Much like you used to be able to do, Tom can perform wandless magic when he becomes emotional. The emotions he feels fill him up and diffuse as spurts of magic. The stronger the emotion, the stronger the magical reaction. We will witness examples of these during our next lesson on the coming Friday."

"Professor? Tom's reaction…" Harry trailed off.

Dumbledore nodded. "He seemed to be expecting the arrival of some sort of inhuman creature and my visit and revelation didn't shock him. In fact, it seemed to have confirmed suspicions he had been having. And from his insistence, we can conclude he wanted knowledge. He knew of his own power and was thirsty to learn more. He wanted to be able to control them as soon as possible. For good or bad purposes, we already know." Dumbledore ended gravely.

An awkward silence ensued during which Harry shifted in place uncomfortably and Dumbledore stared at the surface of his hard wood desk, deep in thought. This drew on for a few moments before Dumbledore suddenly shook, eyes wide and gasping for breath. Harry, on alert, jerked forward to aid Dumbledore. However, he held up his hand, gesturing to Harry that everything was okay.

"Professor… Are you okay?" Harry asked, concerned.

Dumbledore straightened and calmed. "Nothing, Harry… Nothing. I just…" Dumbledore trailed off. He stood up and made his way to the Pensieve. "I just need… to rid myself of something…"

Harry stood awkwardly, his sweaty hands bunching his faded jeans unconsciously.

"Goodnight, Harry." Dumbledore said bluntly, peering into the Pensieve.

Harry took the message and asked no more questions. Somewhat insulted, Harry turned to leave. As he made his way through the threshold, he turned inconspicuously to glance at Dumbledore. His back was turned to him but Harry could tell that he was still brooding over the stone basin. Worried, Harry considered staying, but Dumbledore looked tense and from the way he bid goodnight to him, it was easy to tell that Harry's presence would not be appreciated, to say the least.

So, Harry left, concerned for the health and safety of his headmaster. As troubling as Dumbledore's behavior was, Harry was still buzzing with excitement at the new information he had received. Even with just one simple meeting, there was a lot of meaning underneath it. He could not wait to relate what he had seen and learnt to his best friends, especially a certain analytical bookworm who could add her own highly welcomed interpretation to his.

Harry climbed the last flight of stairs, muttered the Gryffindor password, and entered the common room, where, among the excited first years and anxious fifth and seventh years, a bushy-haired young woman was scolding a disgruntled redheaded youth as he fiddled with a confiscated Fanged Frisbee.

"Harry!"

"What was it like, mate? Any new jinxes?"

"Better!"


End file.
